


different strokes for different folks

by greenurr



Series: Different Strokes 'verse [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: But like weirdo feral roleplay, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn as Character Study, Roleplay, Sex Toys, Shibari, Subspace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15731058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenurr/pseuds/greenurr
Summary: Everybody likes some sort of weird sex thing. When you have a happy and fulfilling sex life that involves four people, everybody brings a different weird sex thing to the table. This is a fic about that.





	1. Nastya/Liza; Shibari

**Author's Note:**

> This is RPF! It includes fictional scenarios of real people having sex with other real people! If you don't like that, this may not be the fic for you. This is a companion piece to my other fic, "we are the champions (of the world)" but you don't have to read that one first to understand this one!
> 
> You: is this just you projecting your poly feelings and own weird sex things onto some hockey players and their wives?  
> Me: [that one gif of Rebel Wilson from Pitch Perfect yelling "NO!" but then winking]

The day Nastya found out she was pregnant, she told Liza first. 

Liza knew because she got an unexpected phone call from Nastya in the freezer aisle of the Wholefoods, while she was trying to find the right kind of chicken nuggets that her kids would actually eat. She suspected they might have gone out of business, and was in the middle of cursing out God and the entire human race. She frowned when she saw the caller ID. They didn’t usually call—texting was easier because then they could use Google Translate if there was a word or a concept they didn’t know. They had both been living in the US for a while, but without having to interact with the media like their husbands did, both of their English knowledge was slightly lacking. It was frustrating.

“Hello?” she says, as she picks up the phone.

“You not at your house. I’m at your house. Why you not at your house?” Nastya sounds panicked, shaken.

“I’m in grocery. Why you at my house?”

“I’m pregnant. I not told Ovi yet. I need you, please.”

Liza looked over her cart. She had what she really needed, she could come back another time. 

“I be home in half an hour. Wait on the front porch.” Liza let her voice deepen and bear authority, the way she rarely let it in public. She heard Nastya let out a sigh, and hang up.

When she pulled into the driveway, she saw Nastya sitting on the front porch, looking at her phone but clearly not seeing anything. She barely even pepped up when she saw Liza approach. Liza walked towards her and put a hand on her head, stroked down her hair. It was always so soft. Liza kept meaning to ask her what she used in it, but wasn’t ever able to formulate a sentence about it that didn’t sound stupid. 

“You want tea?” she asked, tipping Nastya’s chin up with her other hand. Nastya shook her head, reaching out and tugging at the end of Liza’s t-shirt twice.

“Just want you,” she said. 

“Okay,” said Liza. “Go upstairs and lie down on the guest bed.”

When this… thing had started between the four of them, they had made out some basic rules. One of the main ones was that anything that didn’t happen between husband and wife happened in a guest room. The master bedroom was off limits. Liza put away the groceries as she listened, with ears trained by mothering, for any noises that seemed off. She just heard the gentle creak of the floorboards as Nastya walked upstairs, and then the sounds of her settling on the bed. Liza didn’t hurry. Unlike Nicke, Nastya didn’t mind time to herself, before doing what they did. She said it helped her get into the headspace.

She did find Nastya in that headspace when she walked upstairs. Nastya was lying on her back in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She turned and smiled just a little at Liza, her eyes just a bit sleepy.

“I’m take care of you,” said Liza, peeling out of her jeans and taking off her bra underneath her t-shirt. “Take off your clothes.”

Liza headed to a locked trunk at the end of the bed, far too strong for any curious children’s hands. She dragged her hands over the neatly looped rope inside: dark blue and worn for Nicke, bright red and slightly less worn for Alex, and for Nastya, a natural, soft, un-dyed hemp, barely broken in.

“You want whole body?” asked Liza. 

Nastya nodded, and opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“What, honey?” asked Liza.

“Make it pretty?” asked Nastya, quietly.

Smiling, Liza nodded. She climbed onto bed, took Nastya’s foot in her lap and started by tying the rope around her ankle. 

Liza didn’t really know where her love of rope came from. Maybe it had started in Scourterna, her Girl Scout troupe, she wasn’t sure. But she had always carried a piece of string around with her, even when she was a kid. She once spent a road trip as a kid just learning knots from a book, tying them over and over until she could do it with her eyes closed. She hadn’t even thought about tying up people until she was in college, but once she did, she hadn’t stopped.

Out of all of them, all four of them, Liza secretly thought that Nastya was the easiest to tie. Her husband was the most challenging, and therefore the most rewarding. She rarely felt as victorious as she did when she was able to grind his face into the floor and loop a quick knot around his hands while he struggled, or string him up in a predicament position and watch him get progressively more red faced and angry. Alex was the most fun, reacting so well to teasing that it was easy to make him cry. Nastya, though, was the simplest, happy to lie still for hours with her eyes unfocused and let Liza loop and tie, loop and tie until she had created what she wanted.

After about forty-five minutes, Liza finished. Nastya had each of her legs bent, ankles tied to her thighs in crisscrossing patterns. She had a harness framing her breasts and collarbones, and patterns strung across her stomach. Her hands were bound in front of her, bent up to rest her loose fists beneath her chin.

“You okay, baby?” asked Liza, in Swedish. When she got to this point, Nastya didn’t necessarily respond to what was said, but rather, how it was said. Nastya hummed. Liza brushed her fingers along the twisting ropes, settling over one breast and gently thumbing over Nastya’s nipple. Nastya hummed a little again and wiggled. Liza shushed her.

“I need you to stay still for me, sweetheart,” she said in Swedish, and then repeated it in English. “Still.” 

Nastya turned her head and nodded, her eyes working to focus on Liza’s face. When they did, she smiled wide, and Liza smiled back. It was so easy, with Nastya, to tie her up, to get her to the place where her eyes went unfocused and she would do what Liza said, whatever Liza said, until Liza said to stop. It scared Liza, sometimes, and when it did she just reminded herself what an honor it was.

“Still, now,” she said, patting Nastya low on her stomach, making her breathe out through her nose. “Good girl.”

She brushed her hands along Nastya’s body for a while. To be honest, she lost track of time doing it, too busy admiring Nastya’s long limbs in her rope, tracing over Nastya’s tan lines and connecting freckles. She didn’t mean to tease, but when she reached her way down to Nastya’s pussy, she found it dripping.

“Oh, is this for me?” she asked cupping a hand over it and slipping a finger in between the folds. “Thank you sweetheart, this is so nice. You stayed so still, such a good girl.” 

She couldn’t keep herself from leaning over Nastya, peppering kisses all over her face. Nastya giggled, a little, but stayed still.

“Here, baby,” said Liza, reaching down to the end of the bed and pulling a small vibrator out of the trunk. She settled back down next to Nastya, lining their heads up on the pillow and reaching down to press the vibrator against Nastya’s clit. As soon as she turned it on, Nastya’s body practically spasmed, and Liza quickly withdrew her hand.

“Still,” she repeated. “Still, baby.”

Nastya bit her lip and nodded, her face inches from Liza’s. When Liza returned her hand and switched the vibrator on again, every muscle in Nastya’s body tensed. But she stayed still.

Nastya had told her once, shyly, after they were lying together in the dark one night that their husbands were out on a road trip, that all she wanted was to be close when she was tied up. To be held, yes, and restricted, to obey and not question, but she needed closeness, as well. Even Liza being down the bed, tasting her, was too much, too far away. Nastya needed to know that she had every bit of Liza’s attention, Liza’s body curled around her own, every inch of skin touching skin. 

“Are you going to come?” asked Liza. “Are you going to come for me, my pretty girl?” She could feel Nastya’s breath on her face she was so close, warm, muggy, uneven.

Nastya whined and said something plaintive in Russian.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” said Liza, kissing Nastya gently on the lips. Nastya did her best to kiss back, panting.

Liza didn’t tease Nastya, like she did Nicke and Alex. However much she wanted to pull the vibrator away, watch Nastya whine and stuggle, that wasn’t what this was about. What this was about was Nastya letting her take control, and Liza doing everything in her power to make sure Nastya didn’t regret that choice.

“Okay, baby, come for me.” Liza held Nastya as she shook through her orgasm, letting her cry be muffled between their two bodies. Once Nastya’s whines switched over from pleasure to overstimulation, she turned off the vibrator.

“Good girl,” she said, in English. Nastya sighed happily and turned her head up to be kissed. Liza laughed, and obliged. This was why she could never be mean to Nastya. She was just so sweet.

“Alright, I’m going to take this off, and we’ll get you undone,” says Liza. She’s just as careful letting Nastya loose as she was tying her up, picking at the knots rather than untying them. Nastya comes out of her headspace in the time it takes, and as Liza frees her, she holds up an arm to admire the marks left around her wrists. 

“You want to talk?” asks Liza, coiling up the rope and putting it back where it belonged.

Nastya sits up, hums and tilts her head consideringly. “Coffee first?” she asks.

“No coffee for you.” Liza looks meaningfully at Nastya’s stomach. “You can have tea.”

Nastya groans. “You so mean.”

“To you? Never,” says Liza.


	2. Nicke/Alex; Roleplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was particularly interesting for me because I don't personally have this kink and my idea of it is a little bit nebulous and hard to define; however, my headcanon of Nicklas Backstrom, cold stone feral sex weirdo, was too strong to resist.

They don’t do it often. There’s not a pattern. Not a particular trigger, not a response to anything in particular. It’s only once in a while, maybe every three months or so.

Once every three months or so, Alex will turn to Nicklas and ask, “So, what are we?”

Nicklas doesn’t think of what they do as roleplay. Roleplay is for silly costumes, pretending to be something you’re not—a nurse, a teacher, a cop—like Halloween. Nicklas would never be able to take that seriously. What they do, when they do this, is different. They strip themselves down to the barest, basest parts of themselves.

_We’re on a desert island, and I’m hunting you for sport._

_We’re lions, fighting over a kill._

_We’re animals, we’re competitors, food and resources are scarce and there’s only enough for one of us._

_I don’t know if I want to kill you or fuck you, sometimes._

They strip down naked. They fight, they chase, they wrestle for as long as it takes someone to win, and then the winner gets to. Well, do what the winner wants to do.

Alex might have two inches and twenty pounds on Nicklas, but when pushed into a corner—even one of his own design—there’s not a lot Nicklas won’t do to win. It’s a pretty even fight.

It’s February when Alex asks him again. They’re in Chicago, after a loss to the Blackhawks. It was a frustrating game. They ended up losing by only one point. Nicklas just wants to retreat back and lick his wounds, but Alex seems wound up by the loss, dissecting it in the bus on the way back to the hotel, knee bouncing. Nicklas closes his eyes, thinks about being in bed with his wife, with his children, warm bodies dozing.

It’s freezing outside, and in the walk between the bus and the door of the hotel Nicklas’ bag gets ripped right out of his hand by the strength of the wind. Andre catches it, hands it back, and Nicke nods at him. He ends up being the second to last one into the hotel, followed only by Alex, who stopped on the sidewalk, eyes closed and mouth open, like he’s tasting something delicious. 

The air is dry, the wind is cruel, and Nicklas grew up in the cold but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Not everyone is a self-sacrificing Russian. Nicklas heads into the lobby, shaking his head, leaving Alex to bring up the rear.

Alex wordlessly follows him into his room and even when they arrive, it seems as though the winter has followed them there. The wind howls louder this high up, and the cold is creeping through even the well-insulated corners. Alex heads to take a shower, and Nicklas gets ready for bed. When Alex comes out of the bathroom, naked and rubbing a towel over his head, Nicklas is already in bed, lying on his side.

“So,” Alex asks. “What are we?”

Nicklas closes his eyes. He thinks about the cold, and the dark. Thinks about disappointing losses, and the exhaustion of working your body to it’s limit with seemingly nothing to show for it. He thinks about the necessities of life, eating, sleeping, fucking, things that every animal does.

“Bears,” he says. “We’re bears, and it’s winter, and we’re stirring in our cave.”

Alex nods, turns off all the lights but leaves the bathroom one on, the door slightly open. He grabs lube out of his toiletries bag, climbs into bed with Nicklas and stores it under the pillow. Nicklas draws him closer, pulls the comforter over their heads, and already their cave is dark and stuffy and nearly too warm. 

He pulls Alex on top of him, wrapping his legs around his waist. Alex grunts, deep, and rubs his hardening cock against Nicklas’ hip. Nicklas can feel it twitch, feel his own cock start to fill.

They don’t talk. They rarely do, when they’re like this. Instead everything is quiet grunts, sighs. They don’t kiss, because feral animals don’t know how to.

They rut together for a while, breathing each other’s air. It’s nearly impossible to breathe, the air getting more and more stale, and Alex’s weight on top of him. Nicklas thinks about hibernation, thinks about doing nothing but eating for months, getting fat, burrowing down together somewhere dark and out of the way of the cold and just sleeping out the winter. Thinks about Alex’s weight on top of him, thinks about lying in bed next to him, feeling him move in his sleep, and he takes another hard-earned breath.

Nicke draws Alex’s fingers into his mouth, gets them wet and guides them down between Nicke’ legs to his hole. Alex rubs his damp fingers up against Nicklas’ hole, pressing in, just slightly. No matter how much they both might want it, the fact of the matter is that Alex can’t fuck him with just spit. Alex breaks the seal of the blankets, just for a moment, reaches up and grabs the lube from underneath the pillow, letting the cold air in. But before too long he’s returned, fingers wet. 

Nicklas doesn’t often get fucked, simply because Alex enjoys it the other way around so much. Every time they switch, Nicklas has to get used to it all over again, the inherent vulnerability of holding a part of another person’s body inside of you, the foreign stretch of accommodation. He exhales sharply when Alex finds his prostate, his arch upwards only stopped by Alex’s bulk. Nicklas lays his hands on either side of Alex’s ribs, feels his breath and his heartbeat as Alex adds another finger, and then a third. 

They both groan as Alex slides his cock into him, breathing hot and wet into each other’s mouths. Alex balances on his elbows above Nicke, cradling his head in his hands. Alex smooths Nicke’s hair away from his face, and Nicke draws his nails down Alex’s sides, sharp, relishes the sound Alex makes. 

Alex moves urgently between Nicke’s thighs, not bothering to be kind or gentle, rutting like an animal. Nicke brings one of his hands down to his own cock, at first just holding it hard against soft-hard-soft of his own stomach before taking it into his hand, setting a pace that matched Alex’s. Nicke can feel himself building up to his orgasm for a while, and it washes over him in a feeling of release as he comes onto his own stomach. 

Alex drops down, smearing it between their bodies, and bites Nicke, hard, on the shoulder. Nicke starts, clenching down on Alex, and Alex comes, hard and with a cut off whine, slamming into Nicke one more time and grinding as he spends himself. 

They stay like that, breathing, until Alex accidentally slips out of Nicke and they both make an identical sound of discontent. Nicke huffs a laugh and Alex groans, opens up their blanket cave and reaches over the side of the bed to find a t-shirt to wipe them both down with. Nicke takes big breaths of clean, fresh air as Alex cleans them both up. 

Alex pecks him on the lips as he settles back into bed next to Nicke. Nicke bullies him onto his side, scooches up behind him and plasters himself to his back. He falls asleep breathing into the small space behind Alex’s neck, the air hot and stale in this cave he had created, with the animal pleasure of a warm and sleepy body in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I hold your comments and kudos close to me, hording them like a very specific dragon or perhaps some sort of goblin. If you liked it, add to my horde!


End file.
